Rough Original Character One Shot
by rbexter93
Summary: Allie Holland awakes after a late night with a surprise. Original Character. One Shot
1. Rough

The first thing Allie noticed that morning was the sandpaper texture of her mouth. She could feel a thick, coarse film on her tongue and the taste of it made her gag.

"I feel like hell," she exclaimed to herself.

"Me too," a voice groaned from beneath the mass of cushions. Allie was startled, thinking she had been alone in her room. She cautiously pulled back the mound of pillows and quilts to see a half-naked Hodgins lying under them.

"Oh. Um...I. Erh..." she mumbled, annoyed at her lack of focus, finding herself unable to form a sentence. "It's been awhile since I drank that much," she said, excusing herself for any behaviour she may have forgotten.

She vainly tried to remember the previous night but the memories were fuzzy, clouded almost, like a bad quality film. The last thing she remembered clearly she was dancing.

"OHMYGOD!" she cried, the words escaping her mouth with such speed that they all jumbled into one. Jack turned and stared at her curiously, wondering what she remembered as currently, his account of the night was hazy at best. "I was dancing. Oh and I wasn't even that drunk then! I'm such a bad dancer, it's so embarrassing. I should just lock myself up for like a hundred years!"

Jack laughed, he'd expected a drastic revelation but to hear she was so riled by the fact she had been dancing was nothing short of hilarious. He loved the way she had swayed to the beat of the music, capturing the attention of the whole bar. Allie wasn't exactly a rigid or reserved person but he had never seen her so free. When she danced, all boundaries were gone, all cares forgotten. Her reaction, however reminded him how much younger she was than him, how much life experience she was yet to gain.

"You do realize how beautiful you look when you dance?" he asked her, stifling his laugh from ruining the sincerity of him comment. She looked down at her lap to hide the confused expression on her face and so he couldn't see the colour rising to her cheeks. What was he trying to say?

"No," she said, her voice sounding timid and unsure as though she was walking over cautious ground, "Nobody's ever told me that before." She glanced back to look him straight in the eye. Allie had always laughed at corny lines in films about the eyes being windows to the soul but in that moment she could feel his gaze burning inside of her. Maybe he could see through the pretence she showed the world, maybe he could let her be the real Allie.

A moment of perfect silence passed as they sat on the bed, staring into each other. It took only one beat to pull her back to reality. She caught his movement; he was leaning in for a kiss. Allie shook her head,

"I feel terrible, I need a shower and like a gallon of water. I'm not even sure I'm hung-over, I could still be drunk" she rambled, saying anything to ensure the moment was ruined. He was too good for her, it would never work. She knew it in her head but just for a second, one perfect second, she could have sworn that her head was lying. 


	2. See

"I'm sorry, I still don't get it." She said softly, shaking her head at her own stupidity.

Angela smiled back kindly and pointed at a painting of a young girl. They had spent hours wandering around the vast collection of paintings and sculptures. Art had never spoken to Allie, she saw only strokes of overpriced paint not masterpieces. However Angela battled on, fighting to share her true love with Allie.

"You aren't feeling it. You have to see with your emotions. It is more than just a picture, it's telling you what the artist felt, what they wanted to tell the world and how they wanted to be remembered."

Allie spent one quiet moment staring, trying to feel the painting as Angela had instructed her to. It sounded like such an easy task but in reality, she was finding it very difficult.

"Maybe I'm just too scientific. I over-analyse things so often it's made me forgot how to interpret the feeling of something."

"I don't believe that. You can easily fool Brennan, you might even be able to pretend with Hodgins and Booth but you can't with me. You're more than the front you put up. I know you're lying to everyone, even yourself, about something. Something in the past. I'm not asking you to tell me what it is but you can't run from it."

Suddenly, she found herself caught in the arms of the older woman, wrapped in her comforting scent of paint.

"You're right Angela, I can't...I can't run anymore. Have you ever wanted to just forget?"

She said no words in response, lifting only her hand to point at the painting.

"Vincent Van Gogh. People thought he was crazy, he suffered depression and people were so cruel. He wanted to forget, to escape his madness. He put it down into these beautiful canvases and today the world loves him for it."

With anybody else, Allie would try to hide her tears. She would be ashamed of this obvious sign of weakness but here Angela stood, encouraging it. "One day sweetie, I hope you can talk about it. But for now, in this moment, we felt something and it moved us. That is art and I'm so glad I could share my passion with you."

Allie could only nod in response.

"We see with more than our eyes."

Never again would she dismiss art so quickly. 


End file.
